


you hate your soulmate

by zhuzhubi



Series: oh, i don't shake hands [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angry Sex, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluffy Ending, Hair-pulling, Nipple Play, Office Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Unprotected Sex, Violent Sex, be warned lol, but like consentual, degradation kink, the first words on the arm kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25153156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhuzhubi/pseuds/zhuzhubi
Summary: he is quite possibly the most insufferable man you’ve ever had the misfortune to meet - and he’s your soulmate!(or, an reid x reader enemies-to-lovers fic, featuring angry sex and a fluffy ending.)
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader
Series: oh, i don't shake hands [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827676
Comments: 4
Kudos: 176





	you hate your soulmate

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr at zhuzhubii, if you prefer
> 
> so this was just supposed to be a fluffy little rom-com, and it turned into something positively filthy hahahahah…

Maybe in another universe it’s considered unprofessional, but when so many people walk in for their first day at a new job and meet their soulmate, banning workplace romances would just be impractical. That being said, it’s still pretty uncommon for soulmates to meet that way - working together is notoriously bad for relationships, professionalism aside, and the universe seems to know that - so you never imagined it would happen to you. **  
**

But here he is, in all his glory. Mr. “oh, I don’t shake hands,” and he doesn’t look like the asshole you expected him to be ( _and he’s actually pretty cute- stop that, no he’s not!_ ), but appearances aren’t everything. 

You’re determined to hate him, having built up his asshole-ery in your mind for so long. And by the fact that your response to hearing the words you’ve been waiting for your whole life is “that’s rude of you,” you’re pretty sure he hates you too. If you weren’t already positive he’s a douchebag, and positively _livid_ he put those stupid words on your arm, you’d feel bad he’s been walking around with “that’s rude of you” written on _his_ all this time.

You glare at him. He glares at you. Then, the rest of your coworkers ( _oh god, your coworkers! You have to work with this guy!_ ) burst into almost hysterical laughter, and you realize they must _know_ about his words. _This can’t possibly get any worse!_ you think, _not only did I meet Mr. Asshat, but he’s my coworker! And the rest of my coworkers all know he’s my soulmate!_

Famous. Last. Words.

A walking-rainbow of a woman comes rushing into the bullpen, fumbling with some papers and not watching where she’s going. Of course, _of course,_ she knocks right into you and you fall right into Mr. Douche-whistle and suddenly you’re both a crumpled heap on the floor. 

And _of course_ you end up two inches from his face, chest to chest and crotch to crotch ( _oh? Mr. Butt Nugget’s packing quite a- Stop! Stop thinking about his dick!_ ). And then - _and then!_ \- you both try to get up at the same time and he gets a face-full of boob, like this _clusterfuck_ of a first meeting is straight out of some trashy anime. 

You manage to get untangled - _finally, thank god_ \- but by now everyone one else is laughing even _harder_ , if that’s possible, and the rainbow-woman (Garcia, you gather) is fussing and apologizing. That is, until someone relays the story to her, at which point she starts squealing - 

_“you’re Boy Wonder’s soulmate? Oh my god oh my god oh my god, this is fantastic! You guys should have your first date at this cute little cafe downtown I found last week, and oh wow you two will make such beautiful little baby geniuses together!”_

\- and **_holy fuck_** , she’s getting ahead of herself. _Baby geniuses!?_ you think, _No. Way. The cafe sounds perfectly lovely, but I hate this man and he can keep his dates and his spunk to himself, thank you very much, there will be no baby geniuses, **absolutely not**. _

And so goes your first day at your new job. You and Mr. Douche-canoe scowl at each other over your desks - _which are, you guessed it, right next to each other!_ \- and catch each other glaring, and then glare even harder. You ignore that fact that your other coworkers spend the whole day trying to stifle chuckles and aren’t always successful. 

As angry as you are, you worked hard to get here and Mr. Dipshit can _**shove it**_ , you’ll be damned if you let him take this job away from you. 

…

Later, at home, Reid can’t stop thinking about you as he tries to sleep. He never thought he’d actually meet his soulmate. 

_I guess it was wishful thinking_ , he laments, _I was hoping it would never happen despite the fact that if we were destined to never meet I wouldn’t have those fucking words on my wrist like the 5.85% of the population who only have that lovely “…” which means they never have to deal with any of_ this _bullshit._

He didn’t actually know if his soulmate would be a man or a woman - he’s impartial. And once he’d had years and years to sit with “that’s rude of you,” Reid really didn’t care to find out. _She never even gave me a chance to explain myself! This isn’t my fault!_

 _And alright_ , he thinks, _I suppose if I’d had “oh, I don’t shake hands” I wouldn’t be too happy to meet my soulmate either, but she cut me off before I could explain about the germs! And anyway, I hate her. I hate her because the first thing she did was call me **rude**_ ( _and not just because I’ve made assumptions all these years, it’s not just that!_ ). 

_She may have an awful personality, but **damn** is she beautiful_ \- _Nonono stop that! Okay, she posses many physical qualities that are stimulating to the attraction centers in my brain, but beauty comes from the inside and she is **not beautiful**._

But the heat pooling in his belly is undeniable, and so is the increasing tightness of his flannel pajama bottoms under the covers. 

While he’s arguing with himself, a hand unconsciously sneaks down to relieve the pressure with some _sweet sweet friction_. And if his thoughts drift to - _your cute little scowl and how much he’d like to punish you for being such a **brat**. How pretty you’d look on your knees _begging _to swallow his cock again, voice hoarse from when he’d already had you_ \- nobody needs to know. And if it’s your name on his lips as his release spills onto his soft belly, well. 

As far as Reid’s concerned, denial is a river in Egypt. 

…

“God, I can’t believe him, I can’t _believe_ he did that, can you believe he did that? He just- AGH! - he’s such an _**asshole**_!”

You’re complaining about him to the girls again - _it’s Ladies Night at my favorite bar! Come on, please please please, we have to go!_ \- and you two have been at each other’s throats for _**months**_ now, so they just roll their eyes.

“The sexual tension is so palpable _I’m_ starting to get frustrated! And I have a husband at home who knows what he’s doing, if you catch my drift,” says JJ.

“Oh my god, it’s been _months_! When you guys pretended to hate each other the first few weeks it was cute, but this is just ridiculous. He’s your soulmate! He’s literally the one person out there who is perfect for you in every way, and you’re bumbling around because your first encounter was less than ideal. So your first words to each other were kinda _not great_. So what! That doesn’t mean he’s not the right guy for you. Your resident _knower of all things unholy_ says enough with this fake hatred act-” you cut her off.

“Okay, that’s twice now you’ve mentioned ‘fake hatred’ and I’m gonna stop you right there,” you defend, “We _really, actually_ hate each other. I hate him, and he hates me, and we may work together, and we may be soulmates, but that doesn’t mean we don’t hate each other. And a relationship based on hatred would never be healthy-”

“‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks,’” says Prentiss, and you’ve had enough.

“Alright, I’m gonna go get us another round, and I don’t want to hear a _peep_ about **_Dr. Spencer Reid_** when I get back, capiche?”

And if you hear someone say “They’re gonna crack soon, I just know it. That $200 is mine” a little too loudly as you walk away, well.

Selective recall is a magical thing. 

…

You ( _both_ of you) crack like this: he’s _**fuming**_ because you talked over him while delivering the profile two days ago in Idaho, and you can practically see the _steam coming out of his ears_ because he’s been holding it in until the case wrapped up. Now that you’re back, he’s filling out paperwork so aggressively you think he might _actually_ tear the paper, and pointedly not acknowledging you. 

You’ve had it with him and how _childish_ he is ( _oh come on don’t kid yourself, you’re just as bad_ ), so you pick a fight.

“You can’t seriously still be mad.”

He ignores you.

“Oh, we’re gonna play this game, are we?” you taunt, “gonna ignore me like a petulant _child_ -”

He grabs your arm and, noticing a few lingering people still in the bullpen, practically drags you into an empty office, pulls the blinds shut, then slams you against the door. 

“You think you’re so much better than me, but you’re not, you’re just a _**little girl**_ who thinks she has what it takes to do _**my job**_ \- “

You shove him back and posture like you’re about to start trading punches, but then he’s got a hand up your skirt and you’re undoing his tie. You’re pulling at his shirt - _off, off, I want this gone_ \- and he’s cupping your ass, grinding his hips into yours, and you can feel how _interested_ he is - 

“Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” you say, just to be cheeky, because you already know he’s not wearing his gun. 

He responds with, “I think you know, _**little girl**_ ,” and takes his hands off your butt to shrug off his shirt and you hate how much you miss the warmth of his hands, how much you _crave_ him touching you.

He goes for your breasts, this time, paws at them over your blouse, then tears it off - you’re sure he’s ripped off some of the buttons and you’re really not sure what you’re gonna wear once this is over, but you also can’t bring yourself to care. Your bra’s a little trickier, but he has it off and thrown aside soon enough, hands back on you and _squeezing_ roughly, and the ache is delectable. 

He takes a nipple between his long fingers and _**twists**_ \- “you like that, don’t you, _**brat**_? You like when I’m rough with you” - so you reach up and _ **twist**_ one of his, and when it makes him _growl_ and slam you into the door again you relish in it. 

“Can’t take what you dish you, huh _asshat_ , can’t take that I came along and now you’re _**bottom bitch**_ \- “ you say because you’re mad, and because he’s _teasing_ you as if _he’s_ in control.

You go for his belt to quiet him while he snarls at you, deliciously infuriated, and drop his pants just enough to get at what you want. He’s hot and heavy in your hand, and when you thumb over the tip of him - _and he gasps, bracing himself on the doorframe behind you, mouth open and eyes closed_ \- it comes away wet. 

“ _ **Good boy**_ , I’ve barely touched you and you’re already _dripping_ for me -”

He gets ahold of himself and pulls your panties aside, not bothering to remove them, pushing two fingers inside of you to feel your own natural lubricant, ignoring your clit because he knows it’ll frustrate you - “Oh, _**little girl**_ , I think it’s _you_ who’s dripping for _me_.”

You stroke his cock a few times as his fingers dance inside of you ( _and he finally gives your clit some attention, thank god_ ), then yank him closer and say, “are you gonna stand there like a _**virgin**_ , or are you gonna _**fuck**_ me.”

And he hoists you by the hips and shoves himself inside, skirt gathered around your belly and panties pulled aside, so you have no choice but to wrap your legs around his waist - _“I’m gonna fuck you and you’re gonna **beg** me for it, brat.”_

Sliding up and down against the door shirtless burns your back, but it’s exactly what you want as he thrusts up into you, rough and frantic, hitting that spot with the tip of his cock, panting hot breath into your neck. 

His body starts going _oh oh oh! I’m gonna, I’m gonna-!_ and you feel his hips start to stutter and his jaw start to slack as he chases his high. But you’re still angry - _no way are you gonna let_ him _finish first!_ \- so you thread your fingers through his hair and _**pull**_ and seethe out, “you better _hold it_ , asshole, don’t you dare end this yet.”

It only eggs him on. He slams you back into the door again, and as the handle digs into your back he spits, “You wanna say that again, _**brat**_? Got my cock up your pretty little cunt and think you can tell _me_ what to do?”

And you’re furious he thinks he can talk to you like that, like he’s the boss here. You give his hair another yank, then dig your nails into his back and say, “yeah, _douche-whistle_ , I do. You’re a _**little bitch**_ who likes to take orders ‘cause guess what? I told you not to finish, and you held it like a _**good boy**_ -”

He bites into your shoulder so hard you’re sure he’s broken the skin, and you _scream_ from the sensation of it all. It’s so satisfying to see Mr. “oh, I don’t shake hands” turn positively _**animal**_ , and know you’re the only one who can make him _lose control_ like this. 

Spencer gets _right up_ in your face, his breath hot and wet against you, and _growls_ , “If I wanna fill you up, I’m gonna _**brat**_. If I wanna put a _**baby genius**_ in your belly _you can’t stop me_ -”

And you’re contracting around him, panties tugging at your clit, system flooding with endorphins. It’s _**fucking amazing**_ hearing your screams of pleasure mixing with his _“oh shit-fuck yeah, brat, come on my cock”_ as he slams into you, his release hot as he finishes and then rocks you both through the aftershocks. 

You’re panting against each other and all you can think to say is, “all that and you never kissed me,” so he plants one on you. It’s sweet and chaste, and maybe that should feel weird in the wake of the _hot, kinky office sex_ you just had, but it just feels _right_. 

Then, he says, “hey, being inside of you is great and all, but I really can’t hold you up any longer. I have weak arms,” and you start cracking up. Positively dying with the humor of it all. And then he _**drops**_ you, because _of course_ he does, and the both of you are collapsed in a heap on the floor and this time you’re the ones laughing. 

You manage to get out, “that was rude of you,” between gasps and now you _really_ can’t breathe. When the both of you have managed to calm down, he leans over and cradles your face and mutters, “hey soulmate, I may not shake hands, but I’m pretty good in bed and I know a lovely little cafe that has great scones. Wanna go out sometime?”

Of course, the answer is _yes._

…

_And if baby Reid is born 40 weeks later, well._

_We all know how that happened._


End file.
